They Can't Pick Your Pockets If You're Not Wearing Any Pants

I woke up last Sunday morning
in a bed that angled me so
I gazed out at the sky.
The alcohol was running, screaming, through the blood-vessels in my temples,
and when the surge of pain coursed through my body
it left me limp and lifeless for two hours
of the only sleep I had all night.
In that moment of coherence I tried
to recall the 15 blocks
I had walked
alone, hours earlier;
I reached in my bag,
to my wallet,
to verify indeed I had been robbed despite dreams
of finding my eighty dollars;
I wiped some mascarra and eyeliner from my lid;
I found comfort in having a bed to wake up in,
and one to wake up in alone;
and then I remembered the dream.
A woman left me with
her baby, a boy,
and showed me how
with surgery is penis had been recessed
into his tiny body
so that it was not a visible apendage.
"We have to wait until he's a man
to know if the surgery really worked."
I placed the baby
on the back
of a cushioned chair,
and watched him.
People jarred the chair, and frustrated me,
as I tried to protect the baby boy.
Then my mother came beside me,
and leaned forward over the back of the chair,
putting her body over the baby's.
I shrieked
in horror. She pulled herself
upright and showed
in her arms safely was the boy,
and on her face
a look of accomplishment.
"FINE!"
I continued to shriek.
"FINE!"
I felt complete despair.
"FINE!
JUST DISREGARD MY SENSE OF RESPONSIBILITY!!"
There was certainly no resolution in that night's sleep.

Today I Christmas shopped. I always feel uncertain about the gifts I give. I hope they're alright.

While watching Buffy tonight, someone used the word "Uber-vamp" and I had a misty recollection of someone describing me as an "uber" something this weekend. I cannot for any purpose recall who said it or what the term used was, but I do recall answering with, "what the hell is 'uber'? I don't think I have ever said that word, and I never would, either."

I'll be home Saturday around lunch. Muriah wants me to take the subway across town and meet her up by Dad's house so she doesn't have to come to the airport.
Sunday I'm having lunch, or dinner, or I-don't-know-because-he-has-no-clue with Bill my biological father.
Then Monday: Bigger Than Dallas will be at Smith's Olde Bar, and it opts to be a grand reunion of some of my favorite people.
Tuesday night with Dad.
Wednesday in my pajamas with my siblings and me acting like irreverent, greedy, lazy bastards, and making our Mom laugh the whole time, and the evening at Waffle House No. 4 with Maggie, Julie, and Jeremy (if I'm lucky).
And there ends my plans.

I just realized that the headache I have right now is because I haven't smoked in two days, and I refuse to spend seven dollars on a pack before going home in four days: I wonder if I can make it?